Watching An Execution
by Tellytubby101
Summary: Ever wonder what it was like for Gale to watch his best friend in the Games; to watch someone he cared so deeply for run around and fight to survive, thinking that they could die at any moment? Well, this is his story. Three-shot.
1. Before the Games

**_Watching An Execution._**

**A/N: This is a short story (a three-shot, really) of Gale's POV of _The Hunger Games_. 'Cause haven't you ever wondered what it was like for him to watch Katniss fight in the Games? Or about what he thought about Peeta?**

**First chapter is all about what he saw before the Hunger Games started, the next about during it, and the last one will be the aftermath of the entire thing.**

**Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns the rights. **

**=Ξ=**

_The Reaping._

Of course Katniss immediately volunteered for her sister. There was no alternative in her mind. I could see her desperation covering her like a shroud as she protected her sister. Catnip would do it again and again without batting an eye. Prim was everything to her. Prim's nomination in the barrel might as well have been Katniss'.

Yet, I couldn't help cursing her for taking her sister's place. Though I could understand, I didn't like it. I didn't like the Hunger Games. I didn't like how Prim, with one nomination, was called out. I didn't like it how Katniss was practically forced to take her place.

You could say that Catnip moved of her own free will, but not really. Love does that to people. Katniss would lunge in front of a volley of arrows if it meant that Prim would be saved. She would move mountains to protect her only sister. Katniss would die for Prim, and that's exactly what was happening.

When the words passed her lips, declaring herself as a nominee in place of Prim, deep, deep down, I couldn't help think that it was like she was signing her death certificate. No matter how good of a hunter she was, there were people who trained for this; studied and sparred all their life to win the Hunger Games.

Although, none would've had the hands-on experience of actually killing something like Katniss did. She's slaughtered dozens of animals with a single arrow. My only hope was that she could get a bow and a sheath of arrows. Then she could pick away the competition. But the Hunger Games were never that simple.

I knew I'd have to endure weeks of watching Katniss suffer. Unless she died outright. I don't know which scenario would be worse. _Katniss wouldn't die without a fight_, my mind shouted at me, seemingly angered at the fact I was already giving up on her, to a degree at least.

The only thing that seemed to lessen the blow was when District 12 all joined forces and participating in a mass three-finger-farewell, the silence echoing how precious that girl suddenly was.

How precious she was to me.

**=Ξ=**

_The Opening Ceremony._

I watched as she was paraded around, surrounded by flickering tongues of flame, eyes sparkling with a strange excitement, blowing kisses into the crowd with the hand that wasn't gripping tightly at the hand of the baker's son.

My jaw was clenched as I watched, anxious but thrilled at the same time. Katniss looked beautiful—no, she looked absolutely radiant. My family gasped when District 12 came out, and they were more spectacular than any of the other districts. They literally glowed, and outshone everyone for the spotlight. Sponsors should see that, and perhaps a few of them will pay for food or weapons while she's in the arena.

A bow and arrow. That's all Katniss needed. And maybe then she could come back. All I could do was hope. Maybe I should have volunteered to replace Peeta, that weakling Baker's son. Unlike him, I could protect her. I would have her back. I could set up a giant snare in the arena and capture everyone. Make sure Katniss was safe.

But I couldn't only think of her. I had my own family, and hers. About a year ago, I swore to keep bringing in food for them if Katniss was taken into the Games. But I never really truly believed that Katniss would been thrown into the mix. If it had to be one of us, I would have thought it would have been me who was called out. After all, I had more nominations in the barrel.

However, to be honest, I would hate to be in the arena with Katniss; we'd be forced to pit against one another, years of hunting together meaning little in the stadium where life and death hung by a thread. Would I be able to kill her if I had to? Would she kill me if she had to? The questions, even hypothetical, burned my chest and my mind refused to think about it.

If only we had run away. I had suggested it the morning of the Reaping. We could've done it. Me and Catnip would've survived for sure. But my family; I wouldn't abandon them. My mother had lost her husband and survived, but I don't think she'd survive losing her son.

The cameras were spending an inordinate amount of time filming Katniss and Peeta, but I was glad. It gave me a chance to scrutinize her, see how she was faring in the short time we've been separated. Did she miss me like I missed her? I didn't know. And if she didn't come back, I'd never know.

Looking at the zoomed-in image of her face, I saw that she looked plumper, glowing almost, but I put that down to makeup and luxuries that the Capital saw fit to be showered on their citizens. Even though my mother's worried eyes were staring at me, burning a hole in my cheek, I could not find it within me to tear my eyes away from the screen, could not seem to unclench my fists, my nails digging into my skin.

I never really got how much Katniss meant to me until she was torn away from me. The pain of it would be humorous in its irony if it weren't happening to me. But it was. So it burned.

**=Ξ=**

_The Scoring._

Eleven. The two vertical lines flashed on the screen as if to taunt me, another reminder that this wasn't a dream and that Katniss was taken away to fight ruthlessly against another 23 tributes. Mentally, I snorted at the term. _Tributes_. They shouldn't call it that. _Sacrifices_ would be more appropriate.

I didn't voice any of my smoldering thoughts to my family. My siblings were young, and I didn't want them to repeat my concerns; the danger they could face if I let my hatred run loose! My mother was already worried for me; I'd been eating less, sleeping less, and spending more time in the woods.

Yet even in the tranquil air of the forest I had grown to love, there was something wrong, as if an unsettling fog had drifted over everything. The trees were darker, more brooding. Shadows seemed teeming with hidden dangers, all the more threatening without someone watching my back. Or maybe it was my chest, heavy with concerns and doubts, trapped because there was no one I could voice them to.

What I needed was Katniss. I could talk to her about almost anything. With her, I could curse the Capital and the Hunger Games until my voice was hoarse and raw.

Wordlessly, my mother passed me a cup of weak, but warm, mint tea. The steam filled my lungs as I breathed in deeply, the warmth searing my hands as I held the metal cup tightly. A pang burst out in my chest as I realized that the smell of mint reminded me of Katniss. I don't know if she knew it, but Katniss always smelled like mint, which was why I could always tell if she was trying to sneak up on me.

Even though I was feeling as though I was losing my mind, I couldn't even imagine what Katniss would be facing. Seeing the other tributes, training with them, possibly talking to them; all with the knowledge that all but one of them would die.

Maybe she'd be the one victorious. After all, she scored eleven. The highest score of all the contestants. I knew what she'd done, or at least had a good idea of what happened. Her shooting skills with her bow were unparalleled. Every time she shot a squirrel or a rabbit, her arrow would pierce cleanly through the eye.

Perhaps she also demonstrated how capable she was at setting traps or throwing knives. I was glad that I took the time to show her how to make basic snares. My teaching could mean the difference between life and death for Katniss.

However, it wouldn't be me she should praise or thank if she gets out of there alive. Catnip would owe a lot to her father, who taught her how to wield a bow in the first place. Her father taught her the ways of the wild, and that would give her an edge. Would it be enough to send her home to us?

Poor Prim. If anything, Katniss needed to survive for her. I'd been over their house a few times, and she seemed pale and withdrawn, worse than their mother, who kept appearing strong like Katniss told her to. I could understand why Prim was so fragile at the moment: the sister Prim adored and loved was throwing herself in Death's embrace so that she herself wouldn't.

With this eleven, Katniss may have given Prim enough hope to start eating again. But I couldn't help but think: _Why didn't you get a twelve?_

**=Ξ=**

_The Interview._

_No. Fucking. Way._

This had to be a rouse, a lie, a trick to bring forth sympathy from the audience. The baker's son was in love with Katniss? The Katniss who I know was a social recluse, and the only people she really conversed with outside her family was me and my family, and on occasion, the quiet daughter of the mayor.

If Peeta had ever talked to her—something that I seemed doubtful of in the first place—his presence in her life couldn't have been wholly important because I never heard of him; in the forest where conversation flowed so easily between Catnip and me, where there were no prying ears to hear our inner-most thoughts, that was where we told each other everything.

Katniss had her face buried in her dress; the very same dress that made her glow like a star, lights bouncing off the many jewels sown into the fabric that could keep a dozen families well-fed for the rest of their lives. I thought that her attire took my breath away, but with Peeta's rash declaration of love, I realized I still had enough air left in me to feel horribly winded.

While mutters and gasps were filtering through the Capitol audience, all I felt was a lurch of my stomach and involuntary tightening of my jaw. My mother and my siblings shot me anxious and worried looks, but I ignored them, instead looking at Katniss.

Scanning her body, I could tell by the tense set of her shoulders, the way her hands gripped tightly—knuckles turning white as a show of how strongly she was holding—at her dress as she pushed it to hide her face, that there was something wrong. Instinctively, I knew that if this was a plan, Katniss wasn't informed on the details.

Even though Katniss could keep her face blank, with eyes dull, mouth slack, at any time; a mask of pure indifference, she was terrible at acting otherwise. If she didn't find something funny, she couldn't bring that certain gleam to her eyes, that glint of humor, nor could she make her lips quirk in that certain way that made Katniss' face lose all of its sharp lines, softening it into something more beautiful. Same with anger, envy, sadness, etc. Catnip was many things, but an actress, she was not.

She was barely tolerant to people in general; so I wasn't convinced she could act in love on the spot. I think she knew this too. Which was a possible reason to explain why she was hiding her face.

Peeta on the other hand, if I knew that there was no way he was telling the truth—no way he could love Katniss without even breathing a single word in her direction—I'd believe him. For some reason, he had this weird aura of sincere innocence around him. Definitely, if nothing else, he was a crafty liar, good with words.

With his easy-going smile, bright blue eyes, blonde ringlets of curled hair; he appeared to be immediately likable. His words flowed and the audience were eating all this right up. I had the inkling he would charm a snake out of a hole if he so wished.

I thought back to the opening ceremony, where they were filmed with linked hands. Back then, I didn't give it too much thought, but now I could that perhaps it was planned from the beginning. Maybe.

Actually, to show them as a united front was strange—in a few days they'd have to fight in the arena, a place where the rule was 'kill or be killed'. Eventually, only one would be a victor; so why were they doing from this angle? Showing them as possible lovers?

Really, if this saves Katniss by gaining her more sponsors, I couldn't complain, but still, I felt... betrayed somehow. Katniss and I never had a real title on what we were; we weren't just hunting buddies, and we were closer than any mere friends. Both fighters, feeding families, both felt the pain of losing a father in a situation out of their control—there was a kinship between us.

If I were being really honest, I never gave "us" much thought, but in a way, the back of my mind had always assumed that the two of us would end up together. Married, sharing kisses, eating together at night by ourselves: I sort of assumed that would be our life.

Yet now, as I watched Peeta and Catnip stand for the Panem anthem, with the angle they were filmed, the blush and averted eyes of Katniss for all to see... I guess my assumption might not become reality after all. _Could she... Did she like him back?_ Unless she comes back home, I'll never find out.

And the Hunger Games destroys yet another part of my life.

**=Ξ=**

**A/N: That's the end to chapter 1. What did you think? Thanks for reading; I'd appreciate some reviews please. :-)**


	2. During the Games

**A/N: Here's chapter 2, filled with all the juicy parts of the Hunger Games. However, the very end of the Games and the Victory Re-Cap will be in the next chapter.**

**Sorry for the late update, but school and life, you know, are busy. Not to mention that Gale did NOT want to work with me. No matter how many times I assured him that Katniss would live, he got really worked up about it!**

**At least it's nice and long ('**_**That's what she said!**_**') to make up for the time you had to wait for it. ;-)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, and if I did, I'd kill President Snow off somehow. **

**=Ξ=**

_The Games – Part 1: Cornucopia._

Woods. Thank goodness. Catnip is born for the woods. She has a fighting chance, that's for sure. The camera zoomed out to give the audience a brilliant screen shot of the terrain, hilly landscape filled with leafy trees and a crystalline lake branching out with a sparkling river flowing from it. A small corner of the grounds were made of rocks and boulders, while the other side had a dark field of high grass.

The knot in my chest loosened a bit, not much, but I could breathe a bit better, now that I knew that Katniss had a chance. It was wrong to build so much hope within me that my girl could come back home safe and sound, but to go any other way, to think of any other alternative would break me.

While the tributes stood still for a minute on their plates, the Cornucopia was shown in close range, the tempting delights there for the world to see. My gaze landed on a silver sheath attached to a sturdy bow, and I immediately knew what Katniss had to do.

I've seen her run. She wasn't fast over long distances, her strength being stamina over speed, but I knew she had the ability to shoot out as quick as one of her arrows over a short distance. There was fifty, possibly sixty meters between her and the thing that could save her life.

In my mind, I was urging her to go after the bow and arrows. If she ran fast enough, she could make it past the usual bloodshed of the initial fight. But that thought pulled me up short; was the risk worth it?

Thinking long term, it was, but if Catnip didn't even survive the short term, what was the point of it all? My chest tightened again and my mouth went dry as I eyed the location of her feet, her stance telling me that she was going to run for it, her eyes hungrily watching the shining weapon as if she already claimed it as hers.

Katniss had a very short time frame to get to where she needed to be. Doubt seeped into my mind, a cold trickle of worry gnawing at my gut as I realized that it wasn't enough. She could die.

Yet as the cannon shot, the noise exploding in the suspenseful silence, Katniss froze, her eyes somewhere else, and she lost her chance. I didn't know whether to be relived or disappointed that she didn't run, until she went ahead and sped off anyway.

Jumping up, I let out a few choice swears, ignorant of my wide-eyed siblings as worry consumed me making me curse Katniss—she couldn't possibly make it to the horn in time. But she swerved and picked up a bright orange backpack, which I finally saw was her alternate goal since the bow was a lost cause.

The second of relief I felt was trampled on as soon as she grappled with another contender, a boy I think—they didn't concentrate on her struggle long enough for me to see. As soon as a spray of bright red blood covered her cheeks, the shot moved to more thrilling battles, where more blood was bring shed by those already armed to the teeth with deadly weapons, all of them sharp and glinting in the sunlight.

My mother pulled me back down to the moth-eaten couch, with a strength that I almost forgot she had, and I sat reluctantly after a moment of struggle. I couldn't breathe again. There was a lump in my throat and it wouldn't leave. It hurt so much—as if ropes were twisting and tightening around me, crushing me.

Theory and reality were two totally different worlds. I knew that the chance of Katniss dying were extremely high, the odds most definitely not in her favour, regardless of her earlier performance before the arena. Now I was presented with the real case of having to watch her die.

All while hearing the gaudy voices of overly enthusiastic commentators having a field day with all the bloodshed. Before my eyes, a thin boy had his guts ripped forcibly from his stomach, the girl hovering above him with a bloodied knife and a smirk that chilled me to my bones. Could that be how Katniss dies? To a smiling face with no mercy?

The television flashed briefly on Katniss and she was running away from the warfare, past trees and wildlife that I've seen surround her so many times before. Her face was set with grim determination, a distastefully orange backpack weighing her shoulders down, dried blood crusting on her features—but she was alive and running.

And I could breathe again.

**=Ξ=**

_The Games – Part 2: Wall of Flames._

Death by starvation. Dehydration. Poisoned berries stealing her breath, raising her temperature and tainting her body. Sharp weapons piercing her skin, blood running from the wound in rivulets. Monsters of unquestionable danger ripping and tearing her soft flesh into crimson ribbons. My mind wouldn't stop. I never thought my imagination was on par with those of writers and artists that flock in the Capital, but I guess I was wrong.

I could see her so clearly, even when she wasn't on the television. Images of her flashed behind my eyes in my waking moments, filling my head in my dreams. Except the bad definitely outweighed the good.

My years of hunting has kept my family from starving to death, but the blood I've shed, the injuries I've seen suck the life out of animals have given me an unwanted catalogue of images to use when I think of Katniss in the arena. It didn't help me that she almost really did die from dehydration so early in the games.

The camera was tauntingly zooming in on her parched face, and as if to mock those watching, zoomed out to capture the larger expanse of the arena to show that if she moved from her path in a certain direction for a few hours, she's reach the water she needed. Several opportunities passed her by, a by-product of nasty luck.

I don't think I've ever seen Prim cry as much as she did when Katniss fainted into the muddy bank of a small pool of precious water. She was staying over at our house with her mother when it happened—they were here because her mother needed a shoulder to lean on, understandably so. My mother was one of her closest friends, and took her in without thought. After all, they both got meat from me, so they shared regardless of where they stayed. Katniss' mother assisted with caring for the children when my mother was busy working so it was a fair trade.

I was in the small bedroom of my house. Normally I shared it with my siblings, all of them 'cept my youngest, who slept in the main room with my mother. It was hard to sleep, not because of the quiet noises of life coming from the living room, but from the questions my mind kept turning over.

I finally reasoned with myself that Catnip was safe, up in a tree near a clear pond filled with fish and water. I could spare a moment and rest, and only hope that my subconscious give me a better dream than yesterday's nightmare where Katniss was being carved opened by another faceless opponent, her spine getting torn out as she screamed. She screamed my name in the dream, but I couldn't help. I couldn't help at all.

A shudder passed through me, so I turned over in my lumpy mattress, eyes dozing as I forcibly relaxed myself with the mantra: 'She's alive'.

And then Prim screamed and I was fully awake all over again. The next few hours was some of the worst I've endured. As Katniss was captured on camera fleeing fireball after raging fireball, this just after surviving the wall of searing flames that roused her from her sleep, the commentators were laughing at the scenario: "The 'Girl On Fire' is _on fire_!" The snobbish git laughed with his partner as if it was the funniest shit he'd ever heard. I felt like spitting on him and his entire family.

Katniss' mother smiled once, briefly, as she watched her eldest daughter clean her wounds in water that was covered in a thin film of ash, her face braced with tough resolve.

"It seems like she listened to me when I treated burn patients. That's something." Her voice was weak, but there was a grateful pride mixed in with it.

Prim was sobbing in a mixture of relief and pain in her mother's chest, and while I felt like doing the same, I slipped on my mask of indifference and herded my anxious family to bed. They were tired as it was, and they shouldn't wear themselves down. Perhaps the same could be applied to me, but a few hours of sleep would not be able to eradicate the sight of Katniss screaming as her leg burned.

When my mother tried to get me to sleep, I shook my head and she understood without me saying a word. That's a reason why I love her so much—she understands me, even when I'm brooding and stoic. Perhaps it's because I take after my dad a lot in that sense.

Collapsing on the couch, I watched Katniss pack away her things, and relax to the best of her ability. She let out a little sigh, and that noise took me back to when we were in the forest and we'd sit and wait for our traps to spring. I knew she was tired when she sighed like that. There was the comforting warmth of Katniss' mother and sister next to me on the couch, and I fell asleep thinking at least there'd be someone watching her when I couldn't.

Katniss' face was the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes.

**=Ξ=**

_The Games – Part 3: Hornet's Nest.._

Again I was woken to the cries of panic. Only it was so much worse than before. It was Katniss' cry that brought me back into reality and I was forced to watch helplessly as she was hunted down in her weakened state, scurrying up a tree, a habit I've seen so many times before—she'd always climb up one when she was pressed or in danger, like the few occasions packs of rabid dogs head our way.

Normally I'd laugh once we were up a tree, pointing at Catnip and teasing her about how she looked as she hurried up a tree, or perhaps taunting the wild dogs to earn a laugh and an berating from my girl about animal cruelty. However, there was _nothing_ even remotely funny about the situation, no matter what parallels I could draw from the scenario.

And those people circling the tree weren't human. The insane snarls on their face showed no humanity. They were worse than beasts and monster and all those awful terrors that hid under your bed. They were nightmares personified in a human form.

My fists were clenched so tightly, I felt when it started to weep tears of blood from jagged nails cutting through rough skin, biting into my flesh. The pain kept me grounded.

Peeta was the only one with any light of humanity coming from him, and I didn't know how I felt about that. I was grateful to him, thankful in more ways than one, that's for sure. But his recent actions have left me in more and more doubt about whether he was really lying about loving Katniss or not. I had to convince myself it was a ruse, or I'd go crazy with indecision.

Disgusting as it was, I couldn't help but marvel at the idea of joining the Careers. It's a decision many frowned down upon but I saw early on what he was doing. Not only was he good with words, but he was crafty. He was misleading the Careers on the threat and what threat exactly Katniss posed.

"She only got an eleven for her hand-to-hand combat skills. Man, the first time I saw her spar in private, she flipped her opponent on their back without breaking a sweat! So stay far away from her, don't engage in close range warfare."

Either Peeta was clueless, or he was a genius. As he flipped the knife around in his hand, the blade skillfully twisting and turning without a single cut being made, I understood. Katniss' weak point was hand-to-hand combat. She was small and quick, sure, but he definitely handed her an advantage by warning others to stay clear of her.

In the case she carried weapons, like a throwing knife or a volley of arrows, it was better that her target was a distance away. If she was defenseless, it gave her enough pause to run like a madwoman.

I wondered whether Katniss knew of the degree of Peeta's assistance towards her. While he was risking his life and reputation, she was doing nothing in his favor. If they were herding the audience in the direction of star-crossed lovers, then Katniss was doing a crap job about it. Not that I was complaining much—if she went all sweet and loving on another man in the middle of the Games, I think I'd break something in half.

So no, while I disliked the games they were playing with the viewers, I decided I could never fully hate Peeta. However, on a wholly superficial level, I couldn't help breaking out in the first honest smile I've felt in eons when Katniss dropped those hornets on him and his apparent teammates.

Since I had a brain in my head, I've never provoked those insects to swarm, and watching it happen, I'm damn glad that I never did. They were like a fuzzy, golden blur that left disturbing red welts in their wake. The noise they raised were enough to give me goosebumps—it was a low thrumming that thickened the air with the sound of a lively, menacing threat. A few were daft enough to stay where they were, while the others with some wit in their heads ran towards water.

Really, everything happened in a few minutes, but in my worried daze I felt like it was longer as Katniss climbed down and paused as she tried to get the arrows. Though there was only two or three of the bites visible, the poison on the welts were messing with her. She was whimpering as she tried to remove the life-saving weapons with numb fingers. Oddly enough, though I didn't turn away to see, I think Katniss' mother screamed this time instead of Prim.

In my heart, I knew that even if Katniss died and Peeta lived, I would owe him something for what he's been doing.

After all, any man that took a hit from a blade that big for someone I cared so deeply for deserved something I wasn't sure I could deliver. Here I thought the baker's son was nothing more than a pansy. As I watched him grapple with the larger boy who quickly realized which side his teammate was, there was undeniable strength in his arms, a resolve in his voice as he told Katniss to go.

Maybe, just maybe, Peeta was better suited to protect Katniss than I was. I swallowed the thought past a thick throat, my eyes burning with tears as I watched the television change from images of nameless people dying from hornet bites, Peeta surviving the fight enough—but weakly hobbling away with blood following his every step, and Katniss screaming and whimpering as the poison finally took control of her mind.

Was it bad of me that the deaths of people—my age no less—barely registered in my mind compared to the agony my best friend was facing? No, I didn't think it was.

**=Ξ=**

**A/N: There we go, chapter 2. Poor Katniss, poor Peeta, but seriously, poor Gale, totally out of the loop there. **

**If I ever finish this, I might do an additional bit for Catching Fire from Gale POV. But first things first—got to get to work on chapter 3.**

**Shameless plug: if you like Naruto, Mortal Instruments, Harry Potter, Doctor Who, or even Twilight, I have stories in those fandoms too. Check them out if you have the time.**

**Reviews would be greatly welcomed! Have a muffin for reading!**


	3. End of the Games

**A/N: The best and worst possible outcome for Gale: Katniss survives... wrapped in the embrace of another man! Oh noes!**

**Total apology for the slow update. I wrote a few other one shots that kind of nagged at me in a louder, whinier voice. ^-^ But come on; it's not like I'm holding you in any real suspense. This is a POV take on a book you've all read, after all. **

**Disclaimer: Hunger Games is owned by someone else. You can tell because I wouldn't make Rue die; she'd get some random ninja superpowers and somehow escape the arena. Haha.**

**=Ξ=**

_The Games – Part 4: Pouring Rain._

It hurts.

_THUNK._

Why does it hurt so much?

_THUNK._

Why do I feel like crying? Or screaming?

_THUNK._

Why is it I am tearing up inside?

_THUNK. THUNK. THUNK._

The sound of chopping wood was usually soothing to my thoughts, normally forcing me to concentrate on the noise on the build of callouses on my hands—I had always done manual labor, and it was hard to remember a time when I had soft fingers that could blister. The only people who I knew had soft hands were my siblings, but they didn't count. Too young to be of any use hunting or working in the mines; they were safe.

My mother used to have soft hands. She used to never cry herself to sleep, either. And then my father died in the coal mine explosion. That's what it all comes down to, in the end, in our district. Death, and coal.

Shaking my head before the thought could fully form and manifest, I wondered why chopping timber didn't seem to help at all today. The work was hard and mindless, the axe heavy and blunt, my arms were burning and sweat rolled down my brow; normally signs for a peaceful, if not tiring, afternoon.

So why did my thoughts keep going back to Katniss and Peeta, snuggled up so closely—_toocloselytightlytogether—_in that sleeping bag? Why did I keep picturing that _face_ Katniss made when she was helping him? Why couldn't I stop thinking about their kiss, soft and innocent as it was?

Reminding myself of the incident was certainly not improving my mood. Of course she had to look for him, help him, try to save his life; who wouldn't, with the rule change? The chance to have another victor, one from your own district, is an unheard of possibility. I couldn't begrudge her choice. But that didn't stop acid rising up my throat when I saw how they acted together.

Part of me said, she was smart enough to know why there was a rule change and the image she had to maintain. A louder, less confident part, contradicted and wondered whether the kisses were scripted at all. Especially with the kindness she showed him. I'd only seen that soft look in her eyes, worried and heartbreaking, when she was next to Prim on a sick day.

It was a bitter hit on my ego that a boy she barely knew already got more from her than I had in two years of working together, after heartbreak and toiling to feed our families and the effort it took to break down her barriers and build up some trust.

My only consolation was that I _knew_ Katniss. That boy didn't. He knew that she loved her sister, sure, but anyone could see that. Had he ever heard her heartbeat before she struck for the kill shot, and her exultation at getting it right? Had he ever walked her to her house and watched how she hugged her sister and the distrust she had for her mother? He had felt her body next to his, but had he ever heard her laughter? I had. It was drier and quieter than I first assumed, but it was sweet, all the same. Rare as diamonds were in a coal mine, but all the more precious for it.

I knew Katniss like she knew me. Peeta, the baker's son, never looking like one who'd ever need a reason to enter the woods, would he know of her namesake? The starchy root that grew under water? What would he know of hunting and of killing to survive? Of weapons, of poisonous plants, of dangerous animals; what could he possibly understand of any of it?

Laughing under my breath, I knew that this endless cycle of thoughts was doing nothing for my psyche. Until the end, I'd have to grin and bear it. I said that to myself, but I didn't act upon it. Already, vultures were descending on our families, reporters eager for a story. The only reason I appeared on camera at all was because they'd give food for our families as payment. Proud as I was, I'd kneel on the floor and beg if it meant my brothers and sisters didn't have to go hungry for a night.

Somewhere along the way, I was branded with being Katniss' cousin. Understandable, and it protected her, so I allowed it. No one knew enough to say otherwise, and those that did were loyal to Katniss before the Capitol. Not to mention, I still brought in meat to the Hob and they knew better than to get on the bad side of a consistent hunter who liked to trade.

Hearing my mother call me from the house, I finally put down the axe, leaning it against the considerable large pile of wood I'd already collected. She only called when there was something important happening on the television.

Now, given the choice, I'd probably live in the forest, only coming out to give my family food and to trade. However, guards will occasionally wander the town and school, and randomly question citizens on the games. Those who can't answer are jailed for not watching the games. Not many people left the jail with all their fingers intact.

For the most part, Katniss and Peeta were hogging the screen time. To the point I'd rather risk the jail than watch any longer. Now, my mother knew to leave me be; I stayed close, unless outright hunting, and she'd call when things got "interesting".

As I watched, I thought as I did every time I watched, that if the tributes were children from the Capitol, it wouldn't be called entertainment, but inhuman atrocities.

When Katniss nearly died trying to get the backpack to save Peeta, I felt my heart stop. In the woods, away from prying eyes and ears, we'd discussed how we'd want to die. we both agreed on fast and quick. Straddled, and trapped, she looked as though she wasn't even going to die on her own terms.

The first pretense of a cut made my throat close up, and it was all I could do to force my siblings _out of the fucking room_. They wanted to watch, I don't know why, perhaps believing their attentions to the screen would save her, but I wanted to spare them the trauma. Katniss was like a adopted sister of the family on good days. They didn't need to see her die.

My mother tried to get me to leave, but I shook my head, stood my ground and spared a thought to Katniss' mother and Prim. It was too much to hope for rescue, but it happened anyway. Katniss was all flavors of lucky in the arena; I could only hope it stayed that way.

Who'd have known the brute that saved her had a soft spot for Rue? The girl who looked so much like Prim, the girl who was so brave and strong and likable. The girl who died with a spear to the gut and was sung to sleep with a voice I had heard sing only once before.

It was amazing Katniss decorated her in flowers. Perhaps more amazing, was the three finger salute. I was in town when that happened, and the entire center hushed in reverence.

Only Katniss would take the time to honor her fallen comrade in such a way. I was indescribably proud of her.

There's this fable children are told in our district. It's a power called, "Karma". Basically, you do something good, something good happens to you, and if you do something bad, something bad happens to you. Bullshit, right?

Until Katniss' final actions towards Rue proved her savior, I'd never believed in Karma before. Catnip always lived for someone else; perhaps Karma could recognize that and free her from the nightmare and let her live the rest of her life in piece.

I could only pray. Funny thing is, I know there's no God out there.

If there was, He wouldn't have let the Hunger Game exist in the first place.

**=Ξ=**

_The Games – Part 5: Suicide._

It was irritating, how the screen flickered and screeched in-and-out of life. Little waves interrupted the picture, and since it was a rather brutal fight between man and man-made animal going down, I was rather keen to see the outcome. Not because I thirsted for blood, but because I needed to see if Katniss was alright.

The end of the Games, no matter what arena, no matter how many contestants, always dwindled to bloody combat. I knew things would be getting uglier when the burly boy from District 11, Thresh, fought with the vicious District 2, Cato. Their fight lasted long and hard and was impressive enough with their gathered weapons and the torrents of rain and lightning. Cato fought for Clove, his tribute partner. Thresh fought for Rue, his own.

He'd been one I'd have bet on, if I had no conscience and the money to do so. Thresh was a smart player, sticking to the dodgy looking fields of grain, a place where the others found so suspicious. However, in leaving the safety of the field to get some weapons from the Feast, he'd lost his invisibility. Cato was a surprisingly good tracker, even when seething in anger.

The commentators were laughing, cheering, and placing bets, a lot of them leaning towards Thresh until it was clear Cato, with his full body armor, gained an upper hand. The death was slow, Thresh received a countless array of wounds to his midsection and arms. It was hard to see whether there was a lot of blood when the rain kept washing it away. Yet, you just knew these things after watching years and years of countless deaths in the game. I'd knew the cannon would sound before it did.

Capitol citizens hooted at the blood, and when the commentators gladly hinted at more to come, I could only curse. I caught three rabbits that day with snares, and admittedly, I was a little more harsh in snapping their necks than I was usually prone to.

Still, all my worries condensed together couldn't picture something as utterly horrific as this. The circling wolves made of meat and metal and circuits and wires, and how few arrows Katniss had left. Cruel as Cato was, he didn't deserve falling into the pit of wolves. With their metal teeth and relentless attacking. Whilst I hated him for trying to kill Katniss, I was human enough to realize no person deserved such a fate.

Capitol celebrities were wondering over how long he could withstand the pain. Doctors were calculating just how long Peeta could survive with the leg wound, roughly bandaged as it was. I just kept looking at Katniss, at the almost-relief in her eyes and it hit me: _they were coming home._

But not until Cato died. Perhaps she had come to the same realization, or maybe Katniss was doing this out of kindness, but she shot him dead, clean and quick. I'm pretty sure his final words were asking for freedom from the purgatory.

I was at Katniss' home, and Prim (as school was canceled for the final moments) was sitting in her mother's lap as we watched the footage airing. As the arrow landed, they both started crying, sobbing and laughing hysterically with relief. I stayed stoic, but a small smile crept onto my features. It was over. In a few days, they'd be home.

Then the announcement aired, the rule was revoked, and Katniss raised her bow. Peeta submitted, Katniss refused and they both raised a hand of poisonous berries. The Capitol crowd went insane, and it was hard to hear the commentary over the screams of excitement over a possible double-suicide.

I was having difficulty hearing from the sudden ringing in my ears; I recognized it as sharp panic. We all froze, and in such a small room, the feeling felt impossibly synchronized.

It happened so quick, I didn't know what to think. Her mother and sister cried out as she raised her hand, but all I could think was, _Wasn't your family and I enough a reason to stay alive? Is he really worth throwing everything away for?_

Moving to swallow the berries and die, it was if Katniss was saying, _Yes; yes, it is._

**=Ξ=**

_Victory's Aftershocks._

Standing at the train station, surrounded by reporters, cameramen, and my family, my mouth was frozen in a shadow of a smile. Katniss was coming home. Hand-in-hand with Peeta. Her new-found love. To celebrate or to mourn, the feelings were fighting for domination.

Her return secured food and safety, and a roof over her head for the rest of her days, never being in want of anything. But, where would that leave me? For years we'd hunted together, and I was sure it was more than just that.

Perhaps not. Flashbacks still flickered on the few screens visible from the station, of Katniss leaping into Peeta's grasp and kissing the life out of him. They were free from the arena. If it was all a pretense, they wouldn't need to portray it so enthusiastically once free.

Although, I suppose all notions I had of the entire love affair being a farce died with their unsuccessful double-suicide attempt.

At least she came back. Even though, she's different. I can see that even before she comes off the train. She'll be changed. For the worse, for the better, I can't say. It's weird; this was everything I wished for. I wanted her safe return, happy and healthy.

Perhaps I should have been more specific.

I was feeling irrationally bitter, but probably more scared than anything else, if I was being totally honest. While the feeling may be one sided, I had grown to care for Katniss more than a mere friend. How could I lose my confidant and hunting partner so cleanly when she hadn't even died?

Now I only hoped she didn't forget me in the face of Peeta, the boy whom she was willing to die for.

**=Ξ=**

**A/N: That ends my take on Gale's view of the Hunger Games. I might continue the Gale POV into Catching Fire, but I want to post some other one shots before that... so Author Alert me, if you want.**

**Actually, if you haven't seen, I've posted another two one shots on the Hunger Games. If you liked this, maybe you should check it out! (Shameless plug, of course).**

**Thanks for reading, eat something sweet, and leave me some comments or a message in a review! :-)**


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